


We'll go

by orphan_account



Series: Books of old [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Deals with the aftermath of child abuse, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd is Robin, Jason is a very dramatic child, attempts at humor, this fic is just and excuse to write the batfam bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21721222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tim's integration into the family goes smoothly.Not.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Books of old [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558207
Comments: 149
Kudos: 928





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I own absolutely nothing
> 
> Thank you to everyone that read, kudos, commente and bookmarked! You guys seriously rock!!!❤❤

Jason had been fighting for his valiant cause (Freedom of speech was a _right_ and he was not about to let Bruce oppress him) for eleven months, twenty-five days, and three hours when a sudden, unexpected influx of new data forced him to reconsider his stance on the matter.

As per what was worryingly starting to become a habit, this world-shattering information arrived under the innocent guise of one eight years old Timothy Jackson Drake.

"Fuck." Said Tim one afternoon, getting up from the muddy, chilled, ground under the old oak decorating Wayne Manor lawn. He was looking around tentatively, trying to test the waters no doubt.

Jason was hit with a sense of something like impending doom.

"No, don't do that." He forbid in a firm voice, because there was something deeply, deeply, wrong with it.

Luckily, Tim blushed a deep crimson up to the very top of his ears and seemed to take the rebuke to heart.

That was, however, very much *not* the end of that.


	2. Achilles and his gold

“Alfie, this family has gone to shit.” Jason announced after dinner one night.

“Language, young Master Jason.” The butler reprimanded in a mild tone. Jason answered with a lightly contrite expression. Alfred hummed, unconvinced, turning back to continue drying the dishes. “Dare I ask what brought this astute observation on?”

“Bruce.”

“Ah.” Jason hid a smile at the rather bored tone his grandfather figure was employing. “I might have known. Though I would thank you not to speak of your father that way.”

“No, but listen,” Jason said, scrubbing the dried tomato sauce stain on the soaking plate with something akin to righteous anger. He narrowed his eyes, worrying his lip when it continue to refuse to disappear. “I’ve prepared arguments. Compelling arguments.”

“Have you, now? How unusual.”

“Help,” Jason said, “I’m being repressed.”

Jason could have sworn he saw a smile disappear somewhere under Alfie’s mustache.

“Oh, no, young sir. Far be it from me to keep you from making your point. I wouldn’t dare endanger your bright future as a prosecutor.”

“I just don’t get,” The stain gave in, died, disintegrated, tiny tomato bits swirling down the drain in a red vortex of depressing defeat; and Jason was left with nothing to take his irritation out on. He paused, taking a breath. “I just don’t get why he doesn’t kidnap Tim already.”

“Well, as you rightfully pointed out, there is the small matter of it being a kidnapping.”

Jason frowned. “Nobody would even notice.”

“Maybe not.” Alfred acknowledged. “But if someone did, it would endanger your placement here.”

“Yeah, but it’s not right.” And Jason was getting angrier, now. Real anger, not the mild irritation he’d been feeling all day. “He’s alone in that house, ’cept it’s not even a real house, it’s a mansion, Alf, the kind they show in horror films all empty and creepy and dark; and he’s all alone there. Every time we invite him back it’s like he didn’t believe we would. It’s not right.”

Alfred sighed. “No my boy, it’s not.”

“Then why aren’t we doing anything?” Jason exclaimed, throwing his hands up. Drops of soapy water flew up to splash sadly on the kitchen counter. “We’re supposed to be heroes. We’re supposed to help kids, not leave them alone in mansions with their dust bunnies and their spiders and their unhealthy coffee intake.”

“I do believe your father is working on it.”

He looked at Alfred, helpless.

“I can’t even add”leave them alone with their shitty parents“, in that sentence, since that’s the entire problem. There are no shitty parents in that house, no, the shitty parents aren’t even bothering-”

“What seems to be problem, here.” Bruce’s voice cut through his tirade.

Jason couldn’t help flinching. He whirled around, throwing a spoon at Bruce’s face out of pure reflex. Bruce caught it with an approving nod.

“You said.” Jason seethed. “You said you’d look into it. Well look _faster_.”

“Master Jason.” Alfred snapped. “That is quite enough.”

“Sorry, Alfie. But, yeah.” Jason said. “It is.”

“Is it?” Bruce asked, lost. He took a side step to let Jason dart out of the kitchen. “What is?”

“I’m running away.” Jason announced, marching to his room. Bruce followed at a leisurely pace. “To help save an innocent from the fate you left him to.”

“You are?”

“I am.”

“This is Dick’s first year as Robin all over again.” Bruce muttered under his breath, holding the door to Jason’s room open for him to march through. “Can I come with you, at least?”

“No.” Jason threw open a bag on his bed, slightly scowling, and went to rummage in his drawer for clean socks. Bruce handed him a pair.

“That seems pretty unfair. However will I make it up to whomever I wronged?”

“Sounds like a you problem.” Replied Jason, throwing a box of Tim’s favorite’s cookies in the bag.

“Oh, I see. Is that how it is?” Bruce grabbed Jason and threw him over his shoulder, holding him in a fireman’s carry. Jason shrieked with what was most certainly fury and absolutely not glee. Giggling in fury was a thing. It was. Bruce grabbed Jason’s bag with his free hand and made his way back to the kitchen.

“It is. Let me go.” He tried to kick Bruce’s torso, but his flailing limb was caught before it could do any damage.

“Nope. It might surprise you to learn that I am not okay with you running away.”

“Sucks to be you, then.”

“Jay. I have something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Jason stopped flailing altogether, twisting in Bruce’s grip to stare at him. He looked dead serious.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“Is it bad?”

Bruce hesitated. It was totally bad. Awful. The most horrible thing to ever happen to them. He needed to call Wonder Woman. Superman. Anyone. Hell, even Nightwing. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were coming. Aliens had invaded the Earth. He was having a midlife crisis. A robot had taken Batman’s place and then betrayed itself by emoting too many feelings.

“I don’t believe it is.” Bruce said. “But it is something we need to discuss.”

“Am I dying?”

“What? _No._ ”

“Are you dying?”

“No?”

“Is Dick dying?”

“ **No, he’s not.** Jason, stop it.” Bruce said, a little irritated.

“Sorry. What’s so bad that we ‘ _need to discuss it_ ’?” He tried to lower his voice to imitate Bruce’s but it broke somewhere in the middle of that.

“I told you it wasn’t bad.” Bruce replied, thoroughly exasperated, now. But, like, fondly exasperated. If that was even a thing that existed.

“Yeah, but you hesitated.” Jason pointed out.

“Would you just listen to me?”

“I would, but you won’t tell me what it is.”

Bruce threw him at the couch to shut him up. Jason bounced a few times upon landing, then sprang back up, smirking.

“What is it, boss?”

“Sit down.” Ordered Bruce. Jason did. “I have something to show you.” He took out some sheets of papers from the first drawer of his desk.

As it turned out, it was the opposite of bad news. Bruce just didn’t know how to speak like a normal human being.

Oh and was afraid of Jason feeling replaced.

That too.

Jason wasn’t, though. Not anymore.

\----------

Tim living in the Manor was… an adjustment to make.

Most of it was fine. Really fun. Like helping him decorate his room, or Jason actually having someone around his age in the Manor.

Some of it was weird.

Like when they found out Tim could hack. Only they found out because Barbara told them someone was constantly hacking Bruce’s schedule.

“You thought he would leave without telling you?” Jason exclaimed, when they found out why.

"“Do your parents just not warn you.” Dick managed through gritted teeth. He’d been weirdly present, weirdly _nice_ since their little adventure in near-kidnapping a couple months back. Jason would be lying if he tried to say some part of him didn’t enjoy it a little bit. He’d even helped Jason scrub out the blood from the Manor’s floors, and not been _that_ exasperated when he’d found his favorite pair of pants looked like it was full of period stains.

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Tim assured them. They were starting to hate that word a whole lot. “They usually do. I just like a little more notice, is all.”

“Usually.” Bruce said, dragging the word out like an old and heavy trashbag.

Jason clenched his fists.

“A little more notice.” He spat when Bruce didn’t add anything else and Tim stayed stubbornly silent. " When do they ‘usually’ warn you? The day of?"

“Yeah.” Tim nodded. He must have seen their faces darken, because he rushed to add. " Or the day before, sometimes!" Like that made it in any way better. “I don’t react well when they tell me, so they have to warn me as late as possible. That way most of our time together is good.”

“You don’t react well.” Bruce repeated. Jason was tempted to knock a few times on his chest, see if the inside sounded as hollow as the outside did right now.

“Mmh-mmh.” Tim mumbled, staring down at the desk like he was admitting to having stolen most of the silver, or smoked in the kitchen, or crashed B’s car, or some other cardinal sin. “I’m very emotional.”

“Run that by me again?”

At the very least, that was sure to give Bruce more ammunition in his case against the Drakes. Jason thought, furiously. There was that.

\----------

Bruce had never had to take care of someone like Tim before.

Not that his sons weren’t smart. They were both geniuses, in their own specific way.

But Tim was this endearing combination of sharp intellect and childish naivety.

“Jason is a really bad liar.” Tim observed one morning, roughly two weeks after Bruce had began fostering him, staring unblinkingly the way Jason had ran to.

“How so?” Bruce said, mostly amused, but a little curious to see just how much his- _the_ youngest boy noticed about other people.

“He turned red.” Tim explained, very seriously, back straightening like he was passing a test of some kind. “And stammered a lot. Those are tells.”

“That’s just what lying does, though.” Dick teased. He leaned over the table to tousle Tim’s hair. The gesture had him lighting up again, but the expression was soon lost under a thoughtful frown. Tim turned to questioningly glance at Bruce.

“Dick’s right.” Bruce nodded, somehow managing to keep a straight face. “Whenever someone is lying, their ears turn red. It is one of the tells Batman looks for.”

“That’s not true!” Tim cried, outraged. “I’ve li-” He stopped talking abruptly.

“How do you know?” Bruce asked, doing his best to stifle the amused glint in his eyes. Dick coughed, then hid it quickly by taking another bite out of his breakfast.

Tim sat back. He took on a thinking face that was way too serious for a child his age. Bruce hid his smile under the cover of taking a sip of coffee. After a minute, Tim slowly said.

“You could never be Batman if that were true.” Uncertain.

“The cowl hides his ears, though.” Dick pointed out, staying just as serious as he was, helping himself to Bruce’s coffee.

“But he’d be lying as Bruce Wayne, not Batman.” Tim said, triumphant. “So people would know immediately! You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Bruce hummed. “I’d just have to mislead. Distract. Keep everyone’s attention away from a possible connection between Batman and Bruce Wayne. I’ve never actually lied about being Batman.”

Tim’s eyes had gone very wide.

“Would you like some proof?” Bruce asked kindly.

He nodded.

“Alright.” Bruce chuckled. Dick’s head shot up, alarmed. He’d already guessed what was going to happen, clever boy. The Talk had been very embarrassing for everyone involved, after all. “Why, just last month, Dick tried to convince me that he didn’t have a crush on the com-”

“BRUCE!” Dick exclaimed, red as a tomato. He pinched his nose between his thumb and index. “Urgh, you’re the worst.”

“Wow.” murmured Tim, looking at Dick, then Bruce, then back at Dick. “I still don’t entirely believe you.” He warned Bruce.

“That’s alright. Checking your sources is a good first instinct to have.”

Tim glowed at the praise. “You’re not the worst.” He informed Bruce seriously, kissing him on the cheek, then bolting from the room.

“Really, B?” Whined Dick. “I thought we’d both agreed to forget about that conversation.”

Bruce folded his newspaper. He stood. Pressed a kiss in Dick’s hair.

“But then how would I embarrass you in front of your brothers?”

“The. Worst.”

“I have it on good authority that I’m not.”

“You suck!”

Bruce waved a hand dismissively as he exited the room.

“Your ears are red.”

Yes, Bruce had never had to take care of someone like Tim before.

It was proving to be quite fun, however.


	3. On fera des jours de fête autant qu'on a de héros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than usual, but it's mostly setting up the next chapter.  
> Enjoy!

“Shit.” Said Tim in an almost absent-minded, careless sort of way, roughly a couple of weeks after Bruce began fostering him. “It broke.” He continued before tensing, suddenly. “Shit.” He hissed again, like it was natural, a non-event.

Jason froze in the middle of gathering the remains of one of Bruce’s coffee mugs. He stopped, and didn’t react much, until he saw Tim turning to look at him with eyes that were widening in fear.

“I didn’t mean to, I swear.” Tim said, almost pleading. Like he was expecting Jason to suddenly blow up or something.

Which, yeah, Jason might. But it sure as fuck wouldn’t be over the mug.

Jason cleared his throat. He’d long since lost his fight-or-flight response to breaking some of Bruce’s things, mostly since Bruce had taken him ‘downstairs’ and made a game out of breaking old and useless junk. They’d spent the afternoon gathering, then breaking ugly shit, just the two of them, just to have some fun. Jason had not, however, lost his fight-or-flight response in the face of unnatural atrocities like the one that had just happened.

He cleared his throat again, for good measure.

“’S alright. You didn’t mean to. ’S okay.”

Tim deflated in relief. Lost two whole sizes. Jason patted him awkwardly on the arm to try to stop him from getting any smaller. It usually worked when Dick did it. And yeah, worst case scenario, he knew the Atom now, he could maybe negotiate a few hours in the suit just to find Tim again, but still. Tim could also very much stand to not lose whatever height he’d been bestowed with.

“What. What did you just say?”

“I didn’t mean to?”

“No, the bit before that.”

“It broke?”

“No, the bit before _before_ that.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Tim said, puzzled. “Are,” He stopped shyly, getting even smaller. Jason patted him more forcefully on the arm. “-are we okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Peachy keen. Just fine. I’m right okay, we’re perfect.”

Tim offered him a tiny, relieved smile. Jason’s fight or flight instinct grew stronger.

“Oh. Good.”

“Y-yeah.”

\-----------

Not even ten minutes later, as this was so very clearly a matter in dire need of some urgent and forceful action, Jason was knocking on Bruce’s study’s door, and waiting politely in the hall until he was invited to enter.

“Jason.” Bruce acknowledged, looking a little surprised to find him there. “Come in.”

“Mr Wayne.” Jason announced in a dead-serious tone of voice, standing to attention in front of the desk.

Bruce made the face he always made when he thought Jason was doing something hilarious. It involved his lips pressing together in a thin line.

“What can I help you with, Jay-lad?” He asked, just as seriously.

“I’ve come to negotiate a cease-fire.”

The _face_ somehow got more intense. Jason glared, mightily, back.

“I’m listening.” Bruce nodded, putting his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers together in front of his mouth. He glanced at Jason from above his crossed fingers. “Though I wasn’t aware that we were at war.”

Jason sent him an incredulous look.

“Which,” Bruce added, even as his face fought to stay blank. “-of course, is but the result of an unacceptable lack of observational skills on my part. Lay out your terms, good sir.”

Jason nodded in approval, fighting to suppress a smile too.

“It has come to my attention,” He said. “-That I might have been a little mistaken in some of my assumptions.” Bruce’s eyebrows climbed high in his hairline. “Which,” Jason added quickly. “-does not mean _you_ were _right_.”

“Of course not.” Bruce droned, eyes twinkling.

“Of course not.” Repeated Jason, grinning. “Just that I was slightly wrong. And that you were maybe slightly less wrong.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.” His dad said. “Though I would like to know what I was _maybe_ _slightly_ less wrong about.”

Jason took in a nice, even , fortifying breath. Blew it out and withstood the weight of Batman’s attentive look. For Tim, he reminded himself. This was for a good cause. No matter how hard and painful it would likely be.

“I am going to stop swearing.”

“You are?”

“I am.”

Piercing look.

“You… are.”

“Gosh diggity dangit, Batman, keep up.” Jason said impatiently. “Yes, I am.”

Bruce searched for some divine inspiration, somewhere way, way up there.

“Ah, I see. Well I am,” He stopped. Chose his words carefully under Jason’s ever-vigilant eye. “-very happy to hear that, Jay-lad. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You havta do the same.” Jason added sternly.

Bruce raised an inquiring brow.

“Don’t lie.” Jason huffed. “I heard what you said when you tripped over the toolbox yesterday, and it _wasn’t_ ‘son of a _bacon-bit_ ’.”

Bruce stayed silent. So Jason huffed again and crossed his arms defensively. This conversation would have been easier to deal with in the Robin costume.

“So yeah, those are my terms. I only stop swearing if you stop swearing. And you _have to_.”

“What came to your attention?”

And thank god, finally, _finally_ , the World’s greatest detective had started asking the right questions.

A few timid knocks sounded, startling Jason badly.

“I’m fine.” He waved Bruce’s worried frown away. “I’m fine.”

“Come on in, Tim.”

The door creaked open. Tim walked in, with his tablet in hand, and a determined look on his face. Jason tensed.

“You were lying. There’s no statistical evidence of it being a thing. I googled it.” He said proudly. “It would be too complicated. What if you didn’t know you were lying but you were? How would your body know what is a real lie and what isn’t? Physiologically, it should not be possible.-”

“Magic exists.” Counter-argued Bruce. He was doing the thing he always did when he was trolling someone. That little glint, that tiny glimpse of Brucie that meant he was fooling people and having a lot of fun with it.

“And is the Bane of our existence.” Jason muttered, trying to calm down, narrowing his eyes. “One of them, anyway. What are we talking about?”

“Well, shit.”

Bruce dang-near choked. His own version of it, anyway. This one involved a slight widening of the eyes, and a grunt-ish sort of sound. It had taken him some time, but Jason was becoming very good at reading Bruce’s micro-expressions.

“ _See_ ,” He hissed. “This. This has come to my attention. And it’s all our fault.”

Where else would the kid have heard people swearing, all cooped up in his Mansion like he’d been up until meeting them?


	4. Uncharted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we're getting even more AU bcs I am soft for Batdad and ignoring canon completely. 
> 
> Does this have a plot ? Somewhat. It's more of a series a snapshots into their life, but i do know where i want to go with it.   
> Hope you enjoy, even tho i feel like each chapter is worse than the last.

Back then, Jason hadn't known that he would hate the answer to that question so much. 

He found out soon enough, though.

\----------

Jason sighed, propping his chin up on one knee, as he let his other leg dangle from the Batsignal.

Batman was talking to the commissioner, sharing a file, but keeping Jason from seeing it for some ungodly reason known only to overbearing, overprotective, vigilantes. It hadn't taken very long for him to grow bored.

He fell back, letting himself lay lazily on his back all over the giant spotlight. His legs kicked an unsteady beat against the side of it.

Batman didn't even raise his head.

Movement caught Jason’s eye. A few rooftops over, a little shadow was moving, hiding behind a gargoyle.

Jason frowned. A big cat, maybe? A mutant rat?

A villain?

A paparazzo hoping to land the Commish in a big ugly spot of trouble?

Whatever it was, Robin had to do something about it.

He slid noiselessly down from his perch, landing in a crouch in the shadowy cover the Batsignal's mass offered.

Without consulting Batman - that was obviously too busy to pay much attention to anything, even Robin, Jason was not scowling, absolutely not, no sir, that was just the shape his face was growing into. With the dads he had, it was only natural his resting face would be a scowling one. - on the matter, he dropped two stories, trying to make it to the right rooftop undetected.

Now, Jason was a good person to have around in a crisis. He usually kept calm, had an inkling what to do. Knew just how to react to make it out of the situation alive. Bruce had said so.

A decent head on his shoulders, even Willis had called it.

This time, though, Jason stood frozen, gobsmacked, mouth threatening to drop open as he stared at the little hobgoblin that was crouched on the rooftop in front of him. Behind a gargoyle, fifty feet up. At eleven pm. All alone in the Amusement Mile, with an expensive camera. On a school night.

Tim smiled down at the picture he'd been examining for the past few moments. Raised his infuriating, dumb, head. He jumped about a mile high, then adopted the most perfect "oh fuck" face Jason had seen in a long time.

'Oh fuck' was right, Jason thought, brain swimming, drowning amongst waves upon waves of panic and anger.

"TIMOT-"

"Shhhhh." Tim waved his arms, movements desperate, wide eyed. He rushed over to clamp a hand over Jason's mouth.

Jason licked it, and Tim yanked his hand back with a disgusted frown. He went to wipe it on the sleeve of the Robin costume, something of an reflex, then visibly thought about what he was about to do and stopped, unsure.

Tim’s hero worship of Robin was both flattering and very weird.

"Timothy Jackson-" Jason hissed, quieter, stopping because he didn't want to say 'Drake', it didn't feel *right*, but wasn't sure what else to put in there. "What on earth do you think you're doing?"

Tim put on his very own gobsmacked expression, the one that reminded Jason very much of their first meeting.

A dark mass descended upon Jason and Tim. For a moment all sounds were muted. A heavy, warm, armored weight settled on his frame. It took him a second to realize they were under B's cape.

Jason fought his way to the outside world, gasping perhaps a tad more dramatically than the situation really warranted.

"Robin. Report."

Batman was scanning the roof for threats.

"Calm down you big boob." Coughed Jason.

"Injuries." Demanded Bruce.

"None. Yet. Merry mother of milk, B," Batman clenched his jaw. "-let us out of here."

—————

That was the night they discovered Tim’s unholy love for cork-boards, red strings, and conspiracy theories.

Oh, yeah, that was also the night they discovered that Tim had been endangering himself near every-night for the past 7 months, and the last - and only - time Jason had seen Bruce so close to fainting like that, Selina had managed to convince him that she was considering dumping him for the Riddler.

Well, so close to fainting in his own way. Paling a lot, and looking desperate for any other rational explanation, more like. But again, Jason was becoming very good at reading Bruce’s micro-expressions.

Finally, that was the night one Timothy Jackson - Wayne. Jason was trying out the Wayne in there. - got grounded well into the next year and looked like he didn’t know quite what to do with it. 

—————-

None of them had been expecting the slideshow. 

They’d been surprised, but had complied when Tim had asked them to come into one of the sitting-rooms.

“What’s more-” continued Tim, standing on the sofa, highlighting part of the projection on the wall with a laser pointer. “-if I hadn’t gotten into that habit, Dick would have bled out-” He used his pointer again and the next slide popped up. It was a picture of Dick, injured, laying in the snow, blood pooling around his leg like some kind of martyr deity. It was a really good picture, Jason had to admit, but- He bit his lip, sneaking a glance at Bruce. Nothing much beside a slight tightening of worry around his eyes. “- so clearly, my sneaking out mostly led to good things. I was helpful.” He insisted. “And that concludes the presentation on why I think it is unfair for me to be grounded. Thank you for your attention.” 

He jumped down from the sofa and kept very still, clearly expecting some kind of verdict.

Bruce took in a calm breath. 

“Tim.” Tim stood up even straighter, if that were even possible. Bruce’s face grew more pained. “Would you please turn that off.” 

Tim complied, and Dick’s giant martyr face disappeared from the wall. The kid’s hands were trembling a little, Jason noticed after a beat of stillness. 

“Thank you.” Said Bruce, steadier already. “May I come closer?”

Tim gave a jerky nod. He didn’t even have time to finish it before he was swept in a giant Bruce-hug. 

“Tim.” Bruce said again, cradling him close and sweeping his hand through his hair in soothing motions. “Do you know why I grounded you?”

“Because I was bad.” Tim replied as though that were obvious. 

If Jason knew Bruce, and he did, that was the wrong answer.

Case in point, “You aren’t bad.” Bruce said sternly. “You are a very kind young man. The reason I grounded you-” He continued. “- is because what you did was extremely dangerous. Not to mention the fact that you hid it from us for months.” He pressed a kiss into Tim’s hair before continuing.”You aren’t bad, and you don’t need to be useful to be here. You are however, still grounded, and will not be doing that again unsupervised.” 

Tim’s breathing picked up. 

“Okay.” He said, visibly trying to stay calm. “May I please have my camera back.”

“Not ye-”

“B.” Jason said sharply, because Tim was about to be overwhelmed, again, like that first night, when Jason had met him, and he knew for sure none of them could withstand a bout of him crying. He’d gotten to understand how much taking pictures meant for Tim, too, and taking it away could only lead to bad things. “Careful. ‘S like Zitka or my mom’s picture.”

“How about this.” Bruce compromised, giving Jason a nod and picking the soothing motion in Tim’s hair back up. “You’ve collected a lot of evidence over the past few months. So how about you help me sort through it every night before patrol?”

“I could do that.” Tim nodded, just about melting against Bruce. 

“Thank you, Timothy.”

—————

Tim took being grounded very seriously. 

Where Bruce could see him, at least. He no longer sneaked out when they patrolled.He only took picture in controlled environments, and enjoyed his time spent going over the pictures with Bruce very much.

He took the “do not sneak out of your room at night unless accompanied by Jason, Dick, Alfred or myself” rule very seriously, at least. 

One would even say he took it to the letter. 

“Jason,” said Tim, one night, tugging insistently at the covers Jason was sprawled upon until he groaned, half awake. Jason opened one eye, and tried to bat his hands away. He squinted at the glowing number of his alarm clock and groaned again, as he’d only gotten back from patrol about an hour ago.

“'is it, Timbo?” 

“You have access to the kitchen.” Tim whispered furiously.

Jason checked the bright, luminescent, numbers of his alarm clock again.   
Nope, still not gotten more than an hour of sleep.

He gave up and sat up on the bed. 

"I do. You had a nightmare or something?" 

“No, I didn't.” said Tim, leading Jason out the door by the arm.

“You hungry?” He asked, shuffling along, and yawning. They crept past Bruce’s door in complete silence, Jason applying every bit of stealth-training he’d gotten as Robin.

“No.” Tim replied, once they’d gotten far enough that talking was an option again. “I need potatoes” 

“You need potatoes at four in the morning.” Little brothers were weird.

Tim nodded.

Little brothers were very, very, weird.

“But why?”

“I'll show you,” Tim said, “If you give me potatoes.” 

And Jason couldn't really argue with that now, could he?

—————

“Potato-gun.” Tim said, proud, ten minutes later, brandishing what was indubitably the most beautiful piece of weaponry Jason had ever laid eyes upon. 

“Awesome.” Yell-whispered Jason, already envisioning all the way he could use it as part of Robin’s arsenal. “Do you think we could-” 

“Absolutely not.” Said Bruce from his hiding spot in the shadows behind them, making them jump about a mile high.

Living with the freaking Batman sucked, sometimes.


	5. Follow that dollar for a long way down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lex Luthor and the horrible, terrible, no good, very bad Gala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year!!! I bring you dumb fluff 
> 
> i hope you enjoy this chapter 
> 
> As usual, i own nothing. It's also unbetaed and not edited, as usual, the urge to post was too strong so i apologizes for any and all mistakes. Can you tell that i really love the idea of Jason, Tim , and Dick being little shits?
> 
> ily guys!

.

.

Sometimes, sharing Bruce was difficult.

The thing, was. The thing was, Jason liked Tim plenty. He was smart, kind, clever, if a little naive sometimes, and he didn't look down his noise at Jason. Tim was his little brother, blood ties be damned, just the same as he’d come to think of Bruce as his dad.

Problem was, he'd never had to share Bruce before. And Bruce only had so many hours to spend in a day. 

Jason just wasn't very good at sharing people.

Be it Bruce, Dick, Alfred, or Tim.

It was stupid. Tim wasn't out to steal anyone away from him. The opposite even. The kid needed the attention, and wasn't even sure what to do with it. 

But Jason couldn't help but see all the areas in which Tim was better than him. Jason 2.0. Newly improved model. Less issues, better backstory. A few of the glitches smoothed over.

People in Bruce's circle seemed to agree with that, at least. 

It was less than fun. 

Heck, they talked about him as if he were not only the stupidest person alive, but also not even there.

Jason hated most of high society with a passion.

“Oh, aren’t you such a sweetie.” Said Mrs Mckay, smiling down at Tim like he was the cutest thing she’d ever seen. Which, valid, Tim could be very cute, but sometimes it felt like an layer of makeup. It hid the goblin underneath. She’d clearly never seen him eat a pizza. Tim had no taste in food, and Alfred despaired at some of his table manners. 

“Thank you, Mrs Mckay.” Tim smiled, angelically, up at her. 

“And such a polite boy, too.” Added Mr Mckay. “Well mannered, at that. Gotham Academy, I’m sure. You’ll make a good heir when the time comes, boy.”

Oooh, a dig at Jason’s lack of education, and Dick’s adoption, too, just what his night had been missing. His smile did not waver in the slightest. 

It stayed firmly on until they decided to turn the conversation towards bat-related vigilante activity in Gotham, and 

“Dreadful business.” 

No.

“Insane freak.” They nodded together. 

Just, no.

“I think it’s amazing, actually.” Tim said, but an angry red was rising up his cheeks. “Batman helps people in a way this town nee-”

“Aaah, you youngsters and your hero worship.” Mr Mckay interrupted. “You wouldn’t understand the complexities of the problem.”

And, no, absolutely not, they could make digs at Jason’s childhood all they wanted, but this was going ** _too far_**.

 _“Youth is wasted on the youth.”_ The old coot quoted, looking down at Tim with an indulgent smile. Jason wanted to punch it off his face. 

It wouldn’t help anything, but he wanted to. 

“ _I suppose it’s like the ticking crocodile_ , isn’t it?” Jason quoted back, with a dark look, even though most of his expression was pleasant. “ _Time is chasing after all of us.”_

Mr Mckay’s birthday was a week from now. Jason knew that because of the disgusted wrinkling of his nose Bruce had done upon receiving the invitation. 

How someone the around the same age - give or take a decade - and in the same circles as Alfred could be so mean, Jason’d never understand.

Alas, not everyone was as awesome as he was. Jason would just bet Mr Mckay didn’t even read Shakespeare, much less be able to act it or to discuss it with them. 

“J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan. Good book, if a little dark.” He added, to the now purple face of the old man. “ C’mon, Timbo, I think we should go check on dad.”

He put emphasis on the ‘dad’ part just to see the classist old coot turn a little redder. And maybe to feel a bit better about himself, too. Bruce had chosen him, and everyone here could go shove an escrima stick up their-

“They’re wrong.” Tim said, quietly, but fiercely. 

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

“They’re wrong. They’re wrong and you’ll show them.” 

Yeah, Jason hated Galas with a passion. Having Dick, and now Tim, around made them bearable, though.

  
——————

  
Over the course of all his years as Batman, through the traumas and the ugliness of the world, Bruce had learned to appreciate the small pleasures of life. 

"Mr Wayne, _please_." Said Lex Luthor in a tone that was starting to border on frosty. "I must-”

"Lexie!" Bruce beamed, jovial, throwing an arm around Luthor’s shoulders. He then laughed as loudly as he could. “I insist. You have to try the shrimp paté. The cooks really outdid themselves tonight.”

“I’m sure,” Snarled Luthor, trying to subtly dislodge Bruce’s arm. “But I’m allergic to shrimps.” From the other side of the room, Clark flashed Bruce a quick grin. Dick followed suit with a thumb up before making his way over. “Really, Bruce - you don’t mind if I call you Bruce, do you? - that’s kind of you, but-”

“Of course you can call me Bruce, Lexie, we’re all friends here, aren’t we? In fact, I’d love to introduce you to my kids.”

Luthor looked like he’d much rather go hunt for shrimps in Gotham Harbour’s polluted waters.

“You really don’t have to-”

“You’ve already met Dickie here, of course.”

“Yes.” Hissed Luthor. “Yes, we’ve met.” 

Dick’s smile was a sweet, innocent thing considering the last time they’d met he’d almost set Luthor’s office on fire. “Accidentally” of course.

  
—————-

Jason’s teeth were gritted. 

Lex Luthor was here. _Lex Luthor_.

Now if it were just Jason, that’d be fine. But that was endangering Tim, throwing him to the sharks. Shark. Singular, with a huge, capital S. 

Speaking of capital ‘S’s, and Luthor, the one capital S supposed to do something about it seemed awfully distracted, as did Bruce, who’d been swept up to the dancefloor by another guest and had left them there, alone with a supervillain. Granted, not one that had any interest in them, or in doing anything to them, but, still. 

It was the principle of the thing.

So yeah, maybe he’d found Luthor’s presence at the Gala suspicious. 

And maybe he’d told Tim that. 

And, maybe, just maybe they’d decided to search his coat, his pockets. You know, as Robin and his sidekick ought to do, when in the presence of villainous activity. And maybe to escape the crowded ballroom and get a little bit of fresh air.

They hadn’t counted on Luthor needing to leave early, though. 

Though Jason wasn’t sure who looked less comfortable, at the event, himself or Luthor.

"Don't panic." He said, low, in Tim’s ear, as they watched the billionaire approach. "I have a plan."

Tim nodded, listening intently. 

"I need you to cry."

"What?" Tim sounded horrified at the very idea. "But, we need to represent the Wayne nam-"

"C'mon, Timbit, trust me." 

Tim bit his bottom lip, but his nod was surer this time. 

Luthor reached them, a question already forming on his lips. 

Tim chose that moment to burst in big, heart-wrenching, despairing, wails. The staff supposed to look over the coats and give them back to their rightful owners startled wildly at the noise.

Luthor took a step back. Then another. 

“Shhh, Timbo.” Jason said. “Shh, it’s alright. They suck. You don’t owe them anything.” 

Tim sobbed harder.

“T-they s-s-said-” Tim started, hiccuping. “T-they said I-” He held out a bleeding hand. 

Jason startled, dark anger starting to overtake him. Then he noticed where the wound was, remembered that Tim had grazed his hand yesterday morning while trying to use his skate board and his slingshot at the same time , in the yard, and deduced that the little shit had probably just scraped the scab off it.

Jason pretended to only now notice Luthor. 

“Oh, Mr Luthor!” He exclaimed. Babbled. “Sorry. We’ll be out of your way.”

"Yes, yes. Get going."

Jason nodded, then fled, trying to drag a still wailing Tim by the sleeve. 

All things considered, Luthor looked pretty relieved to watch them go. 

"That was awesome." Jason hissed under his breath once they were far enough not to be overheard. "I knew we could weaponize the shi- chilidog out of that."

Tim blinked wide, watery, blue eyes at him, looking for all the world like Jason had just violently kicked an heartbroken puppy in front of him. 

"Timbo?" Jason asked, crowding him a little. "You okay?"

The sniffle that followed was loud, and particularly pain-filled. Tears sprang up again in Tim's eyes. 

"Hey. Hey." Jason said, at a loss, hands fluttering all over, not quite sure how to make it better. Or if Tim would even allow the touch. "You know I wouldn't have let him do anything, right? You know that was pretend? Timmers?" 

Another long, sniffle-punctuated, silence. Jason felt panic claw around, in his chest.

"Should I get Bruce? Maybe I should get Bruce. Do you want me to get Bruce, kiddo? C'mon Timmy, talk to m-"

Tim giggled. 

Jason froze, stopped rambling, and stared at him. Tim let another giggle out, scrubbing at his face with a fabric napkin.

"You utter shit." Jason breathed, covering his eyes with one hand.

Then, a hand was messing Jason’s hair, fondly. 

"Everything okay in here?" Bruce asked, frowning worriedly at how red Tim’s eyes were. "Luthor just came back in to tell me to check on the two of you."

Everything was not okay. Everything was far from okay.

"Bruce." Jason said, horrified. "We gotta run. I've created a monster."


	6. Shipwreck in a sea of faces, there's a dreamy world up there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am extremely sleep deprived rn, so i am very sorry if this self indulgent schmoop is less well written , or funny then usual. 
> 
> that said, it is 2k+ words of jason and bruce being good family members to each other  
> i hope you enjoy!! As usual, i own nothing

.

  
  
They said the little things hit you the hardest.

While that was true, he knew that wasn’t all there was to it.

Jason was sprawled on the living room’s rug on his stomach, jotting down notes in the margin of the book he’d been assigned in English class. The book was long, a little difficult to read, and the assignment was downright painful.  
Jason was loving every second of it. He’d been for a couple of hours.

He furiously scribbled another note, jotting down his thoughts on the metaphors, the lines and lines of description the author used, the simile and what they represented. He scrawled a question mark on the page with gusto, underlining it twice- 

“-ocused it’s scary.” Dick whispered.

“Huh-huh.” Tim nodded, his voice was small. “Maybe he’s being possessed?”

Whispers were sounding behind him, had been for a few minutes, but he ignored them. They didn’t matter, not as much as the main character’s journey, his realization that-

“It’s been two hours. I think you might just be right.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Tim, tugging on Dick’s sleeves, and making him lean down to whisper in his ears, just loudly enough for Jason to hear-

“You have to save him.”

“I’m not sure I can, kiddo. He’s in too deep.”

"But you’re _Nightwing_." Tim said, mystified by this new information. Jason scowled.

As he’d been reading, the main character’s journey. His realization that-

“Maybe it’s the book.” Tim suggested, fiddling with his too-big sleeves. “Maybe we could destroy it, and Jason would be free.”

“No.” Dick shook his head, raising his voice in a dramatic tilt. “That’s not a price Jason would be willing to pay, even for his own freedom.” Tim giggled.

- ** _that_** they were things worth more in life than th-

“But we have to do something, Dick. We _have_ to.”

“Tim. I’m so sorry, kiddo. We did our best.”

The main character _decided_ -

“We can’t lose him to this evil book.” Tim declared, decided.

“We can’t.” Dick agreed solemnly. And, Jesus Christ, Tim he could understand, the kid was eight, but Dick was _eighteen_ years old, did he really have to act-

“I want my brother back.”

“Oh, Timbit. We’ll find a way.”

“Okay.” Tim nods. “You distract him, I stea-”  
Jason slammed his overheated forehead down against his work.

“ _Would_ you two shipheads stop it?” He growled into the pages. He could feel the fresh ink, his beautiful notes, seeping into his skin.

“Jason! You’re alive!” Tim exclaimed.

“You’re alive!” Dick echoed, gasping dramatically.”It’s a miracle.”

“And you both are dead to me.” Jason announced, gathering his things up, and glaring. “I’m leaving.”

“Nooo” Dick whined,falling back on the couch, making dramatic grabby hands at Jason. “Little Wing, the book-”

“The book, Jay-” Tim imitated him perfectly, falling backwards against him. He landed on Dick’s stomach, drawing a soft ‘ _ooof_ ’ from their older brother. “-it’s evil.” Them erupting into snorting giggles was the last thing Jason saw before leaving the room.

He stomped his way up to Bruce’s study, barely taking the time to knock on the door before striding into it under his father’s confused eyes.

“Can I read in here?” He said. Well. Grunted.

“Just a moment, Lucius.” Bruce said to his computer screen. Jason barely had a second to mutter an embarrassed ‘sorry’, blushing, before Bruce was speaking again. “You’re always welcome, Jay-lad, you know that.”

“Thank you.” He grumbled, putting his stuff down on the rug. He started reading again, enjoying the peace, the silence only broken by the comfortable, warm, rumble of Bruce’s voice as he worked through a project with Lucius.

\-----------

He woke up to the strange sensation of being moved. A door opening, then the soothing, repetitive motion of someone walking, and a hand on his back. Where a year ago, that would have immediately triggered a panic attack, Jason just sank in the hold, grumbling.

“I’m too old to be carried, B.”

“You’re sick.” Bruce said, and his voice was a little tight. “You were asleep, on the floor, and you have a fever.”

“Mmh. ’m fine.” Jason protested, making no move to get down yet.

“Nevertheless, we’ll both feel a lot better once Alfred’s taken a look at you.”

“Don’t need it.”

He stopped protesting after that. They were nearing the kitchen, already, so he knew resistance was becoming futile. Bruce hummed the first few notes of some old show’s theme song. When they reached one of the sitting rooms, Jason was almost startled when the singing stopped and he spoke instead.

“Jay-lad?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you have a question mark inked on your forehead?”

It was those two idiots’ fault. Or his. But he couldn’t exactly tell Bruce that.

“I want to become Riddler’s sidekick.” He mumbled into Bruce’s shoulder, eyes closing again, the swaying motion of his walk more soothing that he’d care to admit to anyone. Riddler’s sidekick probably didn’t have to deal with brothers.

“Ah. Of course. I should have known.”

“Yeah.‘S in case Selina leaves you for him for real.”

Bruce’s laugh rumbled through his chest. Jason was too tired to even smile at that.

“You’d follow her, huh?”

“Sure. Gotta up your game, old man, or he’ll steal us away.”

“Well, I can’t let that happen.” Bruce said, lowering Jason down onto something soft, and tucking a comforter around him before brushing some hair away from his forehead. Jason hummed and almost instantly fell asleep.

\-----------

He woke up to a gigantic pair of eyes, that were way too close to his own for comfort.

“Tim.” He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut to fight off the pounding headache. “Too close. Back. The hen. Off. ”

“Sorry.” Tim said, leaning back. “BRUCE!” He called at the top of his lungs, rocking back and forth on his heels. “JASON’S AWAKE.”

Jason flinched at the shout. He almost missed the way Bruce entered the room, holding a tray full of Alfie’s food as he did.

So, Jason was pretty sure he was dying. His throat hurt like someone had set it on fire, then tried to put it out with acid. His stomach was protesting his every move, and the room felt way too cold for it to be in any way normal. He was sweating buckets, the same way he’d been when he’d been poisoned, once, as Robin.

Yeah, Jason was pretty sure he was dying.

“How are you feeling, Jay-lad?” Bruce asked, using the inner part of his wrist, then the back of his hand to check Jason’s forehead. How that helped, Jason wasn’t sure, he’d always done it to his mom, and she’d never gotten better anyway. It felt nice, though, so maybe it had in some way.

“I’m fine.” Jason answered, trying to push the hands back and sit up in bed.

“No you aren’t.” Tim said.

“Shut up, goblin.” He scowled mulishly, and Tim scowled right back.

“No.”

“The truth, Jason, please.” Bruce said, stern. “Drink this.” He added, handing Jason a warm, steaming, bowl. “Alfred made soup.”

Jason stared, unwilling to back down, not when he knew Bruce would have to go alone. He accepted the mug, though. Only an idiot turned Alfred’s food down.

“I can still go on patrol with you.”

“Can you?”

The locked eyes in a silent battle of wills.

“He can’t.” Tim chimed in. “But I can help.”

“No you won’t.” They said together.

“Oop.”

“I’m not going to patrol tonight.” Bruce said, nodding his head towards the food, prompting him to start eating. Jason did, scowling, and trying not to show how warm that made him.

“You don’t need to stay with me. I’m not a baby.”

“You’re not.”

“Someone might need you.” He tried to argue.

“You need me.”

“I’m fine.” Jason argued, but it was weak and he was resolutely trying not to cough, not to vomit the few spoonful he’d managed. Bruce handed him some water anyway.

“Nightwing’s patrolling.”

“Exactly. He might need us.”

“You,” Bruce said through gritted teeth. “Are not going anywhere.”

“Patrol’s important.” Jason argued, resolute. “I’m fine. Someone might need us. We might keep a drug dealer from selling, or keep a pimp from beating the shi-eep out of someone, or-”

“How about this,” came the compromise, with a strange look on Bruce’s face. “I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep, then join Nightwing on patrol.”

“Okay.” He gulped the last few spoonfuls of his soup down as quickly as he dared to, feeling giddy.

Bruce had been willing to stay home from patrol for him. He’d been willing to choose him over Batman, even just for an evening. He was pretty sure he’d cherish the memory until the day he died.

\------------

It didn’t take long.

“Feel better, Jay-lad.” Bruce whispered, pressing a kiss into his hair.

Jason waited a whole minute and forty-seven seconds after the door had closed to get up.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping.” Jason answered, deadpan, wobbling the few steps to his bookshelf on unsteady legs.

Tim crossed his arms.

“Bruce said to rest.”

“I’m fine.” He said, snatching his copy of the Lord of the Rings, then wobbling back and slipping under the covers, coughing up a disgusting mucus storm as he did. “Bruce’s overreacting.”

Tim pushed himself up and leaned forward until he was too close, way too close again, eyes searching.

"Jason can you turn your head for me, please?"

"Huh?" Jason was pretty used to weird requests coming from him by now, but this was a new one.

"Please." Tim asked, gaze piercing through Jason's very soul. Or that's what it felt like, at least. The kid could be uncanny, sometimes.

"Sure?" He turned his head one way, then the other. "Good enough?" He asked.

"Mmmh." Tim said, then made a note in a small notebook. "Were you lying just now?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"Please answer the question, Jason."

"No?"

"No you won't answer, or no you weren't lying?"

"I wasn't lying."

"Hmmm." He said, narrowing his eyes further.

"What." Jason stated, already dreading the answer.

There was no answer.

Jason’s dread grew.

“You should get back to your room.” He suggested.

“Why?”

“So that you won’t get sick?”

“I don’t care about that.”

“You should. It sucks. Go away.”

“No. You’re not sending me away so that you can run to the Cave?”

“No.”

“Can you tu-”

“No. For goats’ sake, Timbit. I’m not lying.”

“Oh, okay. Then I don’t care if I get sick. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“At least lay down or something.” Jason grumbled. “Just looking at you makes me feel cold.”

“Okay.” Tim grinned brightly, and did just that. And if Jason started reading out loud, that was nobody’s business but his. It was important to convert Tim to the wonders of books, was all.

Bruce trusted him to stay. He was staying.

Unless something, anything, happened to Bruce. Then all bets were off. The Batcomputer was rigged to send him something if that was the case, but he was trying to set a good example here. So Tim didn’t need to hear about that. Yet.

\------------

The thing about trust was, Jason’s Robin training had had some hangups, some issues, one could say, for a long, long, time.

You're angry." He’d stated, side-eyeing Bruce, the first time he’d screwed something up.

"I am. But not at you."

"Fat load of good that does me. Angry's angry."

“It’s not.”

“Sure.”

\------------

“Today we’ll be working on trust falls.” Batman had announced, once they had been done stretching on the mats.

And Jason had crossed his arms and said-

“Not if they’re called that, we won’t be.”

That was before Jason knew how to read Bruce’s face well, but he’d still managed to read that one as confusion. So he’d explained speaking like he would to a small child.

“Do you know what trust gets you, in the real world?”

And Batman had sighed when Jason had continued, in as dry a tone he could manage-

“Killed, B. It gets you killed.”

They’d worked on it, though.

\-----------

Trust had been hard won between them, through training-

“No. No, we won’t be learning to win knife fights.”

“Robin.”

“No. Hell to the no. It doesn’t even make sense. Nobody wins knife fights, Bruce. There’s just one guy that bleeds out sooner.”

“ _Robin_.”

\-----------

And only once Jason had proven that he really did trust Bruce had he been allowed to be Robin. And it was beautiful, because unlike with other adults, that trust went both ways. And that he was damn good at being Robin.

“No, no,” Jason said, crouching at the end of the alley, trying to make himself as nonthreatening as possible to the kid they’d just helped. Batman followed his lead. “You don’t get it.”

The bigger vigilante tilted his head in that particular way that meant Jason needed to elaborate some more.

“Controlled environment.” He explained. “That way he can know how you’ll react when you’re pissed and still can either beat you up or run.”

Batman did not still, not even for a second. He unconsciously shifted his legs a little until they were in a basic ready-to-attack stance, though. In reaction to what, Jason didn’t know.

“Stop that.” Robin scowled. “You’re making it so much worse.”

\-----------

“You’ll be staying with us for the next few days.” Bruce had announced, that night they’d met Tim. “You shouldn’t be left to fend for yourself.”

And Jason had thought that, adults, honestly. Always with the thinking that all kids were helpless, or innocent, or couldn't get by. Or straight up dumb. People adapted, for survival, whether they were kids or not. People did what they had to or else they died.

"But it isn't necessary. I know how to take care of myself." Tim had argued. "I know how to cook."

The argument had been familiar. Jason'd made it himself, more than once, before Alfie had offered to teach him how to cook better and allowed him to help around the house.

More than once after that, too.

"That's not the point." Bruce had answered, like he always did.

Looking at Tim, Jason had thought maybe he’d been finally starting to understand what the point was.

(As it had later turned out, Tim did _not_ know how to cook. Feed himself? Sure.

Cook?

Hell to the no.)

So yeah, their trust had been hard won.

\------------

And the thing about trust was, there were very few people Jason really trusted. Oh sure, he took risks. He wanted to believe in people, the same way heroes did, so he took risks. But real trust? He only gave to family.

The thing about calling Bruce dad, was, it wasn’t supposed to happen, ever. Absolutely not to his face. Privately? Sure. To his face, where anything could happen? Never.

And yet, Jason had managed to screw it all up.

“Dad?” He mumbled, half-asleep, stealing a glance at the alarm clock. Five-thirty am. Bruce’s hair was damp, he’d just come back from patrol. “Ooh shoul’ get Tim bag tis room ‘fore he getsh sick.”

Bruce made a sound like the one he made when he got kicked in the solar plexus on patrol. Jason’s eyes flew open and he froze.

One surely had to be some kind of cosmic piece of shit to actually manage to make Batman cry. _Joker_ didn’t make Batman cry and there was no bigger, shittier piece out there Jason knew of.

Because Bruce was _misty-eyed,_ now, and also _what the everloving fuzz?!_

“I’m sorry, I-” He started, before choking the words down.

“Shhh.” And Bruce was suddenly hugging him, tight, like Jason was all that mattered in the world in that moment. “Shh. I love you Jay-lad. I love you so much.”

.

They said it was the little things.

Jason knew for a fact that was a big fat ton of lies.

The big and medium things were just as bad. They weren’t waiting behind every corner just to slap you in the face, sure. Could the little things hit hard? Absolutely. But the big things, they happened less often, but didn’t hit any less hard.


End file.
